


Get It Right

by Setkia



Series: My Marvel Stories [2]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, But He's Deadpool, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Peter is a Good Boyfriend, Suicide, Wade Tries So Hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 19:03:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12847521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setkia/pseuds/Setkia
Summary: “You arenotokay. You still kill the occasional person for a living, and you polish your katanas for fun, and you like to shoot your bullets to the tune ofWe Will Rock Youand you’re sitting here, surrounded in your own blood from a shot that should’vekilledyou. You are theembodimentof not okay and I don’t think you ever will be. But you willalwaysbe worth it.”One of these days, Wade is going to get it right. Today is not that day.





	Get It Right

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own this stuff, obviously. My first ever Spideypool story. I really love Deadpool, not only as a comedic character, but I think he's a lot more complex than other think, and some days we just need someone to tell us that nothing is okay, and we don't know what's happening, but it's okay that it's like that. I made Wade considerably older than Peter, cause I just think he is.

_I may not act my age_  
_And nothing goes my way_  
_But I.. try and get it right  
_ _I.. I’ll get it right_

Downtown Fiction, _Get it Right_

“Wade …”

The ex-merc looks up at his beautiful boyfriend, his brown eyes filled with worry, his eyebrows knitted tightly together. He’s on the verge of tears, and Wade has to spring into action immediately but he doesn’t know what to say, what he _can_ say. He doesn’t even know why Peter is giving him that devastated look that pierces right through Wade’s heart.

“Baby Boy, what is it?”

“Wade …” 

His name sounds broken coming from his lips and Wade doesn’t like hearing his name like that, not unless they’re under very different circumstances _— no, not right now, focus, think straight— ha, straight— wait no—_

“I thought you were getting better?”

And it’s then that Wade realizes the reason for his headache.

Immediately he scrambles to sit up straight and he wishes the walls weren’t so white, and God, Peter shouldn’t have to see something like this, he’s just a kid, _just a fucking kid_ and—

“I _am_ getting better.”

Peter eyes the gun still tightly held in Wade’s hand. 

“Old habits die hard.” It’s weak, they both know it.

“I just—”

“No, listen, Baby Boy,” says the mutant. “It’s not you, it’s never you, God, it could _never_ be you. This?” He gestures wildly with the gun and he’s not sure whether it’s a good thing that Peter doesn’t flinch at the cocked gun that’s being waved around, or not. “This is just … there are bad days, but they never have a thing to do with you, it’s just the voices and they … they’re just so fucking _annoying_ and I just … I _can’t_ … I …”

He really hates that they’re having this conversation right now. Saying you’re getting better while your boyfriend stares at your splattered brains across the wall does not a good impression make.

“Believe me, I’m getting better. This is just a minor setback.”

“A minor setback?” Peter echoes. “You blew your fucking brains out!”

Wade shivers and he can’t even say it’s from the joy of hearing those sweet, innocent lips say such crude words. “But I’m still kicking! Something as minor as a bullet to the head can’t do a thing to me—”

“But you want it to.”

Wade bites his lip. He feels exposed, for reasons beyond the fact that his mask is off and as much as Peter says it’s okay, that he doesn’t mind Wade’s abomination of a face, it matters to _him_. He can’t help looking in the mirror every morning and flinching because he _should_ be used to it by now but he still looks and thinks that maybe the whole Weapon X was a dream, a terrible, _terrible_ dream. 

“I—”

“This is the third time this month, and we’re only two weeks into it.”

Wade hates the way Peter’s brow furrows, the way he gets all worked up. He shouldn’t be this worked up over him, Wade’s not worth this.

_Stupid, stupid! Just blow out your brains already, you’re holding the kid back, you’ve lived your life, his has just started, he’s only nineteen, you’re thirty-two. He’s so young …_

“Stop it.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re thinking stupid things, I just know it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Wade.”

Wade stops, his arms falling limp at his sides. He can’t bring himself to let go of the gun. He knows it worries Peter, because he’s so unpredictable, he could shoot himself again, but he won’t do that to Peter, not in front of him. Ideally, the brunet should’ve never seen this in the first place.

“I’m not good for you.” He hates saying it, but it’s a thought he’s had more than once. It hurts him to say, but he knows he’s not good for _anyone_ the way he is, not even himself. He can’t stand his own mind, can barely get a grip on reality, some days he wakes up and thinks Peter is the perfect illusion his mind has made up.

“Wade—”

“STOP!” 

Peter doesn’t flinch.

“Don’t say my name!” His chest is heaving as if he’s run a marathon, but he hasn’t gone anywhere. “I don’t ever want to hear you say it like that.” He tucks his legs into his body, and bangs his head against the wall behind him, the one with his brains staining it. He’s the perfect broken masterpiece. “Never like that, Baby Boy,” he whispers, the words coming out like a sob.

Peter drops to his knees and Wade tries to get away, but the young man grabs his arms before he can fling him off and sometimes Wade forgets just how _strong_ the younger is.

Peter is looking him in the eyes, straight and directly and it feels more intimate than anything Wade has ever done (and he’s done a lot). 

“Wade, look at me—”

“No. No, you should leave."

What was he even thinking? Getting into a relationship with a boy over a decade his junior? Maybe if it was _before_ the accident, he wouldn’t be such a bad catch, but between his face and his personality, he understands he’s a burden that no one can handle.

“I’m not leaving, Wade. I’m not leaving you alone.” 

Peter tries to take the gun away from him, but Wade holds on tightly. He aims at the ceiling because he can’t tell if he might pull the trigger by accident and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he ever hurt his Baby Boy.

“You’re not okay, I understand that,” Peter says, his voice much steadier than Wade feels. “And you might never be okay. _I’m_ not okay. You think you’re the only broken one in this relationship? Not to start a competition or anything, but I’ve seen shit that I still have nightmares about. Not all pain leave scars.”

“Pete—”

“Listen to me, it’s my turn to talk, Wade Wilson. You have a mouth and you use it well, but I have one too, and for once you’re going to listen.”

Wade waits silently.

“Do you think it’s easy? Being with you? Because it’s not.

"Every time you take a little too long to answer the door, I get scared. I think I’ll find you like this, and sometimes I _do_.

"It’s bad for me, for my health. _I know that._ My aunt worries about me, she worries about you, she thinks you need help, and I might not be the best one to provide it. And I get it, okay? 

“You think you’re the only one with doubts? With uncertainties? Do you think I’ve never laid in bed awake, thinking about how _ridiculous_ all this is? That I’m with a man who is almost twice my age? Hell, that I’m even with a _man_? You think I don’t consider calling this off? 

“Every other week, I think I’ll tell you that we’re over, that I can’t handle it, that I don’t know what’s going on with me, or what’s going on with you, and I just _can’t_ anymore. But I don’t. 

“Because just when I’m going to do it, you laugh. Or you smile. Or you stuff your mouth with tacos. Or you call me Spidey, or you slap my ass, or you try and finish my sentences and utterly fail and I decide that you’re _worth it_. You’re worth _all of this_.”

Wade opens his mouth to protest, but Peter doesn’t let him.

“You are _not_ okay. You still kill the occasional person for a living, and you polish your katanas for fun, and you like to shoot your bullets to the tune of _We Will Rock You_ and you’re sitting here, surrounded in your own blood from a shot that should’ve _killed_ _you_. You are the _embodiment_ of not okay and I don’t think you ever will be. But you will _always_ be worth it.”

“I still … I still kill,” Wade says. “I can’t … it’s crazy but it makes them shut up,” he gestures with the gun at his temple and he sees the way Peter tenses at the action. “They’re finally _quiet_ when the shot rings out, just for a little bit—”

“That’s okay,” Peter says. “Well, it’s not okay, but it’s a way of coping. Unhealthy as fuck, but that’s why I’m here. I get it, it’s therapeutic to you, I understand that. You don’t have to stop killing soon, or quickly, or even at all, if you can’t handle it. Because when I decided to date you, Wade Wilson, it’s _you_ I decided was worth it, disfigured face, guns and all, I _chose_ this. I chose _you_.”

“I can’t … I don’t think I can change—”

“Then don’t,” Peter says. “I don’t want you to be something you’re not, I don’t want you to conform. I want you to be _you_. And if that involves cracking some eggs, then I’m okay with that.”

“But—”

_You deserve better._

“But _nothing_. You don’t have to get better, you don’t have to be okay, you just have to let me be _here for you_ , okay? Don’t shut me out.”

“Baby Boy …”

Peter gives him a small smile and Wade can feel the weight being lifted off his shoulders. 

It’s not okay. And it probably won’t ever be okay, but maybe Wade can live like this.

“This is the part in the fanfic where you kiss me,” says Wade softly, tugging at Peter’s soft hair, pulling him closer.

Peter’s smile tastes nice.


End file.
